


How Do Broken Hearts Go On?

by Somekindofflower



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somekindofflower/pseuds/Somekindofflower
Summary: Based on leaked spoilers, so do not read if you are avoiding spoilers for the upcoming movie/finale. This is my headcanon/maybe fix-it fic. It adheres to spoilers about the finale, including the plot points (and plot holes) I do NOT like, while trying to find a way to a somewhat happy ending.Lucy's broken, and the team is going to fix it, one last time.Garcy romance and Lyatt friendship, with mentions of past Lyatt relationship.





	1. I Can’t Even Sleep You Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Drink You Gone" by Ingrid Michaelson, which FYI is a good listen for this work. I don't own that song or Timeless.
> 
> First chapter is Wyatt's POV of Lucy's grief, The Letter, and how he comes to decide that Lucy needs them to fix things one last time.

It’s thirteen days before Wyatt sees Lucy smile again. 

Not that she doesn’t try before that, she’s still Lucy so she still hates to burden anyone with her own pain. But the best she can manage isn’t even a shadow of that weak, fake smile that he’s only ever pretended to believe. It’s so much worse than her crying.

Since he’s been here, in her place, he isn’t surprised when the smile is immediately followed by a fresh rush of tears as soon as the memory hits her. His eyes sting as they track her retreat to Flynn’s empty room. She’ll curl up on his pillow, clutch an empty vodka bottle—none of them are sure what that’s about—and stare off into space, just as she has every day they’ve not been on mission. It’s only now, that Flynn is dead, that he realizes the truth of it.

Flynn had loved Lucy. Loved her better than Wyatt ever had—maybe not _more_ , but _better_ —because he had sacrificed for her in a way that Wyatt had never been able to. He’d given up his chance for revenge, his chance to get back his wife and child, all to give Lucy the future he thought she wanted. Maybe it’s because she knows she can only get that future now at the cost of Flynn’s life, but it’s as plain as day to Wyatt as it must not have been to Flynn: Lucy doesn’t want that future with Wyatt. She doesn’t want him. Not anymore.

As much as that hurts, to know he’s not what she wants, he knows it’s no less than he deserves. This was partially his fault. If he hadn’t deserted her when she’d needed him most, chosen Jessica, brought her to the bunker, Lucy wouldn’t have gotten so close to Flynn. She wouldn’t have needed to lean on him, because she would have had Wyatt. If it weren’t for his poor decision-making, she’d have been spared several rounds of a broken heart.

He has to believe that, because he doesn’t want to imagine that even in choosing Lucy, he might still have lost her.

As wrong as it sounds even in his head, he can’t imagine not choosing Jessica, though, not with the information he’d had at the time. He could never have lived with himself. Oh, he should have been more careful about it, vetted her past fully, not brought her into the bunker without even getting permission first, for starters. Shouldn’t have made Lucy have to listen to them…

Wyatt squeezes his eyes shut tight and shakes his head hard. His heart had been so ripped up at just the thought that maybe Lucy had slept with Flynn, while he’d been crushing hers every time he was alone with his wife. He can’t even claim not to have known she could hear. That was intentional. Not for Lucy to hear, but he’d had to be loud to drown out any thoughts of her. Rufus had been stuck in the middle, and the others tried to understand, probably, but they didn’t remember what had really happened, what the two of them had had before time changed. So of course Lucy had turned to Flynn. He’d given her such crap for it. Why? To himself, at least, he could admit that he’d known Flynn wouldn’t hurt her. Any of the rest of them, maybe, but not her. That had been a lie he’d had to tell himself as much as her to justify his jealousy.

So why? Did he really need her to love him that much, even though he couldn’t in return? Was he that selfish that he needed Lucy to want him so badly that she’d prefer being alone and heartbroken, pretending to grin and bear it, to attempting to move on and find solace in someone else? So what if the man was someone Wyatt hated, didn’t she deserve to at least have a friend, anyone really, who was on her side? He doesn’t like what the answers to those questions say about him.

Wyatt can’t even blame Flynn for Jessica. It hurts, but…he’d considered it himself, after learning their baby was a lie, but he couldn’t…he just couldn’t. She wasn’t his Jessica, a twisted version of the woman he’d once loved, but she still had her face and he could never just watch it happen. He still loved his Jessica when he was able to mentally separate the two. God, he hated Rittenhouse for that more than anything, for not even letting Wyatt keep his memories of her untainted. It would be easier to blame Flynn if he really believed he’d only made sure of it for himself or even for Lucy, but he’d done it for all of them—really, the world at large—in order to put Rittenhouse on the run, to keep them from the winning streak they’d been on. 

What a bastard Flynn was, that he won’t even let Wyatt comfortably hate him now that he’s dead. Why couldn’t he just have been the psychotic dick they’d all initially thought he was? Because Wyatt did, he hated him, now more than ever. How dare he do this to Lucy, desert her like this, break her heart like this?

Of course, he’d done the same. Dammit. Even dead, even having abandoned her, he can pour salt into Wyatt’s wounds. The guy who had been a sort-of terrorist, or…okay, not an actual terrorist. But still not, you know, a hero, which is what Lucy deserves. 

Wyatt’s not saying he thinks he’s a hero, because he doesn’t, not anymore. Part of him still wants to claim he’s closer than Flynn, but this settles it. Because there’s a not insignificant part of him that still wants to wait and see if Flynn was right, if Lucy can be happy with him. Feeling even a bit of hope at her pain is just the final proof that he does not love her selflessly enough, at least not yet.

An anguished whimper comes then from Flynn’s room and his heart clenches. It’s Lucy. He tries to ignore it, but he’s used to a Lucy who chokes down her tears, who holds them back no matter what to keep from disturbing others. The thought of her so wrecked that she can’t do that? No way is he going to leave her to that alone.

Wyatt taps lightly on the door but pushes it open gently when there’s no reply. Lucy’s lying on the bed, clutching a pillow to her like it’s all that’s holding her together. It’s shocking to realize that she’s sleeping. Sleeping, but not resting—she’s crying in her sleep. That’s why he could hear her. With no release during waking hours, it’s coming out now that she can’t stop it. 

Aw, man, she’s breaking his heart. 

Cautiously, he walks to the bed, torn on what to do. Waking her doesn’t seem right, even as she cries. She needs the sleep; she also needs the tears. But he can’t let her lie there grieving and feeling alone. By the smell, she’d been drinking alone, too. Though, she’s clutching an empty vodka bottle and he smells whiskey. Hopefully she hasn’t been mixing her alcohols. He reaches out a tentative hand and places it on her shoulder. 

The change is subtle, but her breathing eases slightly. Wyatt pulls back and there’s no change. He looks around, examining the room he’d avoided like the plague. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this, with neat piles of books and music and old machinery tucked away in cubbyholes. The only messes were obviously Lucy’s, and he isn’t sure if they’re from before or from now. It’s eerie, this glimpse into who Flynn is, was.

It might be encroaching on her privacy, but he’s not leaving her alone again right now. Taking a look at the beat-up armchair, he sighs and settles in. He’s slept in worse. But there’s something cutting into his side, so he shifts and pulls. It’s a crumpled, smudged envelope with Lucy’s name on it in neat, slanted script. A letter—THE letter. 

Oh, hell, Wyatt doesn’t want to see this. 

The bits of explanation that Lucy had choked out to the group had been spotty and confusing at best. Connor and Agent Christopher had been able to glean more after combing through old news stories and finally had found a John Doe case from 2014 in a Maryland morgue that matched Flynn’s description. Connor had theorized that staying so long in his own timeline, especially close to where his past self was, had been too much of a strain. The Jessica link was clear because somehow she was dead again, though Lucy did pipe up to insist Flynn hadn’t killed her. None of them were sure what made her so sure, but Lucy was barely functional, much less conversational. It had only been through a half-drunk midnight chat with Jiya that she’d sobbed out the bit about Wyatt. Under normal circumstances, Jiya probably wouldn’t have shared, and they might have left her to her privacy. But they’d left normal behind two years ago. Or at least, that’s what Wyatt tells himself when he pulls out the pages to read.

_Dear Lucy,_

_I’m so sorry. I know that this is going to hurt you. You know I never wanted to do that, but if I can spare you greater hurt, it’s worth this lesser pain. I hope you trust me enough by now to believe that._

_I’m leaving, taking the lifeboat to 2012 and I’ll likely be dead and gone by the time you read this. Back in time, trying to fix some of this mess, trying to make it right by doing a couple of things you would never approve of and don’t need on your conscience. Please leave it at that. (I should know better than to ask that of you. On the off-chance that you’ll listen to me for once, please try, okay? Since I DO know you, though: I’m not doing it myself. I’m just making sure what was supposed to happen still does. That’s bad enough, I know, but if it’s that or Rittenhouse taking over the future, it’s worth it.)_

_You’re stronger than you know. I know you think you need me, need my shoulder to lean on, need my help with intel, but you don’t. I’ve watched you develop from a fearful teacher into what you are now. That impressive woman I mentioned? She’s you, Lucy. As for information, all you need is that genius brain of yours. If you need to, you know you can become that badass future version of you that climbed out of the lifeboat with Wyatt and the chia pet on his face. I hope you don’t have to, after what I’m going to do, but I know you can and you will if necessary._

_As for why now, when we’ve grown so close, well, you asked me in Chinatown why I was here. You already know, Lucy. I’ve been here for you._

_The journal talks about what we become soon after this. We’re already quite the team—I TOLD you so—but we become something more. To put it bluntly, we have a love affair, a passionate one, but it doesn’t end well. You do care deeply for me, but—reading between the lines—your heart is never fully in it. There are certain regrets you still carry._

_I’m selfish enough to want to be a fond memory instead of one of your regrets. I’d rather leave you with a heart that’s maybe a little bruised but intact and still fully Wyatt’s than to have us pull you in two. I won’t do that to you._

_Because, dammit, I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but you’ve always been able to pull out of me what I want to hide, I don’t know why I thought a letter would be different. Because I love you, Lucy._

_God, I love you. I tried so hard not to. I tried to save Lorena and Iris and change everything before we could get to that point, but instead I just fell deeper into a black hole and lost myself in the process, doing worse and worse things and nothing worked. And then, you, well, YOU. I do believe God led me to you, as you said that night in 1954. You weren’t an answer to the question I was asking, but you were the answer I needed. You brought me back to myself, gave me back my soul. I go now with blood on my account, yes, but without murder in my heart, and that’s because of you. Loving you wasn’t fate, but it was inevitable, because how could I not love you? You granted me your trust and your friendship, and that has been the great privilege of my life. Thank you for that._

_Please don’t grieve for me. I don’t ever want to cause you more pain than I already have. If this works, I won’t._

_Be safe. Be well. Be happy, Lucy._

_You’ll see me again, if you still decide to take the journal to younger me in 2014. You know the place._

_Love, Garcia Flynn_

Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_. Wyatt isn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t a full-fledged love letter. He’d realized the man had loved her, but that he’d loved her like _that_? For how long? What is Wyatt supposed to do with it?

Flynn was wrong about one thing: Lucy’s heart isn’t fully Wyatt’s, not now, and maybe it hadn’t ever been. They’d been on their way, but their falling in love had been abruptly cut short. But…maybe part of her heart still is his? Is it a good thing if it is?

Was Flynn right about the rest? Wyatt honestly doesn’t know, and there isn’t any way to know other than time. He tucks the pages back into the envelope and lays it on the desk. His eyes move over to the cot in the dark. He’s just going to have to wait. Hopefully Lucy won’t break in the meantime.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

Six months have passed since then, and it turns out Flynn was right.

And Flynn was wrong.

About a week after Wyatt had read the letter, Lucy had emerged from her lair, demanded they transfer locations to a new safe house, and thrown herself headfirst into the fight. Wyatt and Christopher have been taking it in turns to teach the whole team hand-to-hand combat ever since, Wyatt is teaching them all to shoot, and Connor and Rufus are teaching Lucy to pilot.

She’s taken to all of it with an icy rage that almost frightened him, sleeping, eating and living only to fight. She is definitely capable. It most closely resembles how he’d been before he’d been recruited by Agent Christopher. Recalling his frustration with her at the time, now he just wants that doe-eyed, stubborn, history-preserving know-it-all back. There’s no way to maintain that kind of single-mindedness for long without crashing and burning, and she does, of course.

No one has been able to find her since before dinner, and they always try to give each other space. But with the situation they’re in, they search as soon as it gets dark and she isn’t in any of the usual places. Wyatt finally finds her behind an unused barn, lying in the bed of an old rusted-out pickup that had been abandoned when the government had seized the compound they were in.

She’s drunk. He’s seen her tipsy before, but this is far beyond that. This is Lucy without a filter, without kindness or politeness, and he realizes he’s never seen that from her. It’s brutal.

Saying all the things she’s been holding back ever since he’d left her to find Jessica, she lights into him like she wants to burn him to the ground. Starting with the fact that he was mid-conversation with her when he got the text from Jessica and should have said something, plowing through “You still chose her over us even knowing she was probably Rittenhouse—you didn’t even warn us, didn’t protect us” and not slowing down until she hits “Are you trying to say you loved me while I was lying there listening to you making love to her?”

It doesn’t help matters that the answer to that is yes. She scoffs bitterly and retorts that love is more than feeling, more than words. And, God, she’s right. The love he had for her he’d hidden, and his actions had been heartless. He still has no idea how to make it right.

After that night, after his apologies and her exhausted, resigned agreement that she will try to forgive him, something of their friendship is restored. Lucy’s fine on missions, lectures on history like she used to and she is as empathetic and persuasive with everyone she encounters as always. She is kind and cheery with Connor, lets Denise mother her every now and then, and jokes with and supports Jiya and Rufus like she always has.

But. 

That spark in her eye meeting someone she’s always admired, that joy, it’s gone, replaced by a focused goal-oriented burning desire to defeat Rittenhouse. Which he gets, he’s the same, but…he misses it. 

Wyatt misses _her_. Flynn was right, she is strong enough for the fight, surpassing any expectations the rest of them had had for her. But about everything else, he’s starting to think Flynn was wrong, and she’s never coming back from losing him.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

About a year after that, Rittenhouse goes out with both a whimper and a bang.

Flynn had caused enough damage by changing the timeline and taking out the advantage Rittenhouse had by bringing Jessica back. As the time team continues to follow Emma into the past and dismantle her efforts at sledgehammering the hell out of history, Connor and Denise get busy in the present. One by one, they keep chipping away at the members of Rittenhouse, carefully and quietly. Until one day, the right combination of wins in the past and present come together and they suddenly have the advantage. They go on the offense as Emma runs out of sleepers. Then she runs out of goons. She runs out of funding, runs out of Rittenhouse, and now all she has is herself and the mothership.

They still don’t dare underestimate her—Flynn had managed to do damage mostly by himself, after all—but they’re better now, and they know exactly how much is at stake. The end is so close they can taste it. Emma finally tries to make multiple jumps to throw them off her tail before landing in the Northwest Territory of Canada in 1891. They anticipate this move, so they wait to see where she finally lands, and they follow, cringing the whole way. The late 19th century hasn’t exactly been kind to them before.

It’s déjà vu as they track through the snow on horses with an escort (a Mountie one, this time) and they make their way toward her cabin. It takes far less than expected to gain the upper hand. Emma had been expecting a little bit of a time cushion, thinking they would need to charge before following.

All of a sudden, she’s in front of Wyatt, on her knees, begging for mercy. Silly him, he hesitates, loosens his grip on his gun and glances to Rufus. It’s the wrong choice. She goes to pull out a small revolver and at point-blank range, he knows he’s a goner.

Fortunately, neither Jiya nor Lucy shares his hang-up about shooting an (apparently) unarmed woman, not when it’s Emma. The bang he’s expecting comes, only there are two, and he’s still standing. It’s Emma who’s falling with the life already gone from her eyes, blood flowing from the wounds in her chest and head. 

It’s over. 

There’s a moment of disbelief, where none of them dare to say it, then suddenly, Lucy’s arms are around him, then Rufus’s and Jiya’s, and they’re all laughing and crashing to the floor in a heap. George, the Mountie, just looks at them like they’re insane and mutters something about a report. Lucy somehow smooths that over and it’s such a blur that Wyatt honestly can’t process any of it until the lifeboat lands back in the barn of their compound.

Apparently, the same can be said for Lucy. 

Rufus and Jiya rush down the steps first, tripping and talking over each other as they gasp out what happened. Lucy and Wyatt both move down the steps in a daze. Connor’s typing furiously into a computer, checking, as Rufus, Jiya, and Agent Christopher hover behind him, probably annoyingly close, but he doesn’t seem to care as he finally stills and looks up.

“There’s no trace left of them anywhere. There’s no more Rittenhouse. It’s over.”

Next to him, Lucy freezes. “It’s over?” She asks in a monotone.

“It’s over,” Connor repeats, grinning, as Jiya and Rufus embrace heartily. 

“It’s over,” Lucy whispers, and then she collapses. She falls into sobs, the first he’s seen since that night in the bunker when he’d read Flynn’s letter. She’s literally face down keening in the dirt, and Wyatt rushes to her, but she flings him off like his touch is physically painful. For a moment he thinks maybe she’s been injured. But then, Agent Christopher is there and Lucy lets her gather her up and place her head into her lap like she’s a child, lets Rufus squeeze her shoulder and Jiya stroke her back. 

He lets himself drop fully to sit on the ground as Rufus moves to join him, and they all end up just sitting there, stuck in shock and relief and grief for a long minute as they listen to Lucy wail. Rufus eventually puts a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder and their eyes meet. 

“Amy?” Rufus mouths silently. Henry Wallace had disappeared from time, as had his parents. Emma had done a thorough job at making sure Amy is gone for good.

Wyatt nods grimly. “Amy…and Flynn,” he mouths back before pinching the bridge of his nose and letting a couple of his own tears slip out. He’d pretty much known that she wasn’t picking him now, but that his touch is so obviously not the one she wants cements it.

It’s technically a win, but it’s the dictionary definition of a hollow victory.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Four months later, there’s a knock on Wyatt’s door in the middle of the night. He groans as he rolls over in his bed. Whoever it is won’t go away and he finally gets up, ready to yell. It’s Lucy.

Wincing at the smell of tequila that hits him before he even gets the door all the way open, he tugs her inside and leads her to his couch, half-carrying her as she stumbles. He squints at her in concern.

“Did you drive here?”

She shakes her head, staring down at the floor.

“Lucy?”

Before he even fully finishes saying her name, her mouth is on his. In his groggy state, with the years of longing for her and the love he still holds for her deep down, despite knowing they are never going to happen again, he kisses her back. Just for a beautiful moment he lets himself linger in, but then his brain catches up. The taste of tequila and the frantic desperation in the hands that are gripping him call him back to his senses and he withdraws. 

There are tears on her face that she hastens to wipe away with her shaky fingers. Well, shit. He can’t pretend that doesn’t sting.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt, I’m so sorry,” she sobs out and he holds her for a few minutes until she calms. Damn, he hurts, both for her and himself. 

“I know it’s been a while, but I didn’t think I was that bad at it,” he tries to joke, get them back to some sort of solid ground. 

She lets out a strangled choke of an attempt at a laugh. “It’s not you, Wyatt. It’s like something broke in me and it’s not…”

“It’s alright, Lucy. I’m going to make you some coffee. Here.” He hands her a bottle of water from the side table before heading to the kitchen to breathe and try to survive the death of the last sliver of hope he’s carried. The memories come of when they were first teamed up and he can’t help but see the parallels in his situation then and hers now. By the time the coffee is ready and doctored to her exact specifications, he thinks he knows where to start.

Nodding at her in approval at the now empty water bottle, he sits down and hands her the mug. She stares down into it.

“I thought you were a vodka girl.”

“I…used to be. Before.”

Oh. The empty vodka bottle, right. He moves past it, because they’re apparently broaching the subject anyway.

“I get it, Lucy. When--when we were with Bonnie and Clyde…” It’s the closest either of them have come to mentioning their romantic relationship since that night she’d drunkenly reamed him out and he takes a moment to check and see that she’s okay with it. She looks to him in question and he takes that as permission. “The kiss was…well, you were there, it was a good kiss in spite of the circumstances. But it hurt like hell, because the last person I kissed before you was Jessica.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.” He shakes his head at her, because of course not, he’d never told her. “It’s not the same, though. The last person I kissed was you.”

Wait…what? The last… “I…you…what?”

“Flynn and I never kissed.” A little jolt goes through her when she says his name, and Wyatt realizes he hasn’t heard her speak it, not since before they’d left the bunker.

“I…I don’t know what to say. I thought you were…”

That gets him an actual chuckle. “Yeah, not that you made _that_ clear or anything. No, we never kissed, never held hands, never even openly talked about it. I mean, I kind of knew, but not really. I wasn’t sure.”

Wow. Wyatt doesn’t know what to say. If she’s this wrecked when they were never even technically together…he had always known they’d had a weird intense connection between them, but this…

“I’m really sorry, Wyatt. I shouldn’t have come here. I just thought...” she cuts off and winces guiltily. 

“It’s okay, Lucy. You can say what you think and not worry about how it affects me for once, okay?”

“Tonight, I was just thinking that he made this sacrifice because he thought it would make me happy. You know, he ended up right about so many other things—not that he handled it properly—“ Wyatt can’t help but snort at that and she kind of shrugs in agreement. “But I thought ‘what if he was right about this too?’” 

Her coffee mug gets placed on the table as she buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I so wish that I could…for you and for my own sake…but he’s still in my head. I’ve tried to get him out, but…even when I sleep, I, I either dream about him or worse, I DO forget, and then I wake up and remember. I don’t drink often, not anymore—it—I kind of scared myself before. But when I do try to drink just to get one night…how much do I have to drink to forget? To get him out?”

Wyatt can only shrug and hug her in response because he knows there isn’t an answer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again. 

“I know. I am too.”

“What are you--?”

“Lucy, I made my choice a long time ago. I chose Jessica. Her turning out to be Rittenhouse, just because it was an impossible situation, it doesn’t negate the consequences of that choice. It took me way too long to understand and accept that, but that’s the truth of it. One of those consequences was you and Flynn growing so close.”

She pulls back to look at him, weighing whether or not he’s telling the truth.

“If we’d been together, it wouldn’t have happened. He’d have respected that and kept his distance—no, not because of me—“ Wyatt adds at her skeptical look “--because he respected you. So yeah, I’m sorry. Though, if we’re being honest?” Lucy nods for him to continue. “I still don’t really regret choosing her. I hate how it turned out, yeah, and I handled the whole thing wrong in about a hundred different ways. But at least I know now. I know I tried, and thanks to you, I know I can love somebody else, and…” He heaves a deep sigh. “I’m not stuck anymore, not like I was before time travel turned our lives sideways.”

Wyatt doesn’t bother adding that he knows she’s still stuck, just like he’d been. He doesn’t bother telling her he still loves her, either. She most likely knows, but the important thing is helping her because, frankly, she is a mess. This is the last proof, not that he’d really needed more, that a relationship with him is not the answer. It hurts, but…somehow hurts less than the thought of her choosing him and having to wonder if her heart was all there. He feels an uncomfortable pang of commiseration with Flynn at that, but shoves it aside as he lays her sleeping form down to the couch for the night.

Once upon a time, she’d helped put him back together. Now it’s his turn.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

It’s bizarre, the thought of climbing back into a time machine, especially without Lucy. It had taken a couple months of cajoling, but Christopher had finally pulled the right strings and gotten the clearance. Given the pardons they’d preemptively granted the whole team for their service, they shouldn’t even have problems with any legal issues.

“Jiya’s coming too,” Rufus says when Wyatt and Denise get to the warehouse, which is now deep underground at a government black site. It’s guarded by round-the-clock soldiers, armed to the teeth, with a silent alarm for any break-ins that immediately alerts DHS. There’s another matching one, somewhere, with the lifeboat. He hasn’t been informed of the location. Rufus and Jiya are now on a list of six pilots who rotate on-call status—just in case. They’d kept both the mothership and lifeboat for the same reason. It makes Wyatt uneasy that the technology still exists, but Connor had pointed out that while he’s a genius, he’s not the only one. Someday, someone else would probably crack the code, and they could only hope that person was trustworthy. 

You could see why they had their doubts.

“How come?” Wyatt asks the couple, with a small smile at the sight of the ring that glints on Jiya’s left hand. 

“No way in hell is Rufus going anywhere in the past without me ever again,” Jiya replies with a tone that suggests she and Rufus have already fought this out, so he holds up his hands in surrender.

The mothership looms, an enormous white orb in front of them, and they all come to a stop as Connor joins them. 

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Mason asks the group at large. 

The three nod as one and Wyatt is hit with a bittersweet pang. He’s missed the team. Teaching new Delta Force recruits has its perks, like not getting actually shot at on a regular basis, but he’s missed the synergy, the intimacy of this group of people who were more his family than his team.

“Okay, well, then. Go save Garcia Flynn.” Denise laughs wryly as she says it, and they chuckle in response. The irony of what they're attempting isn’t lost on any of them. 

Attempting being the operative word. It’s why none of them let even a whisper of this get back to Lucy. If they’re wrong about where he went, what he’s doing, if he’d died sooner than they thought or in a different location, they might never find him. Jiya and Connor have done a ton of research that Christopher had signed off on as “reasonably close to legal” and they have a fairly good shot at being right. However, having chased Flynn through time before, neither Rufus nor Wyatt want to assume anything.

The three of them strap in, much more comfortably than he’s ever done before, and he feels their eyes on him.

“Wyatt…are you really sure?” Rufus asks. “I know things with you two aren’t the way you hoped. Lucy’s still got a broken heart, but she is alive and well. She’s not self-sabotaging or anything. Maybe if we give her enough time, she’ll…not get over it, but be okay? Maybe you guys could have...something?”

Wyatt’s lips tick up at that without humor as he looks back at his friend. “Is that what you really think?”

“Ah…” Rufus can’t meet his eyes. 

“Thought so,” Wyatt deadpans. “Look, do I get her loving Flynn? No. Do I think that maybe time would help her? To some extent, yeah, but there’s a lot more to it than just him and she’s all alone. I want more of a life for her than just being okay. As for me, well…she’s tried. Her heart isn’t in it and I don’t blame her. If I can fix this for her, I can’t not try. Then maybe the both of us can move on.”

He looks between the other two. Rufus looks resigned, but Jiya gives him a nod of approval and smiles at him. His eyebrows raise as it occurs to him that perhaps she’s seen something. She just mimics his eyebrow raise and shrugs.

“So, I guess…are you ready to go save Garcia Flynn?” Rufus questions like he can’t believe he’s saying it, but there’s excitement in his tone as well.

“Yep,” Wyatt says in response and they all smile hopefully at each other. 

While they’re going to find Flynn, they know he’s not really the one they’re trying to save.


	2. I Can't Smoke You Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn prepares for his exit despite an increasing desire to stay, then finally heads to the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Timeless.

It’s time.

Flynn can feel it ticking away. 

They’ve got Rufus back and an improved lifeboat _“now with cross-your-own-timeline capabilities!”_ It’s got a nuclear battery now (Christopher had finally listened to him and they had followed his example), enabling them to make an infinite amount of jumps without stopping to charge. The next time they follow Rittenhouse, it’s time to set his personal plan in motion. Everything is ready.

Except for him.

The woman sitting on the cot opposite his own has a spark back in her milk chocolate eyes that he hasn’t seen since the day of his arrest, before her own capture. There’s more color in her cheeks and a smile springs to her lips more readily than he’s ever seen. Lucy’s also got more fight in her now, more focus, more certainty. It’s a stunning combination. Flynn knows he is at least a little bit responsible for it and that fills him with pride.

And love.

If only he could be enough for her. 

Now that he’s closer to the end of his time with her, his self-control is slipping. Lucy’s sleeping in his room nightly now, on a cot across from his own. It’s a unique brand of bittersweet torture to lie only a few feet away from her and get to watch her sleep, but not touch her. Would it be so wrong to pull her close and hold her? To kiss her, just once? To show her how much he cares, how special she is to him?

As if he’s summoned her, Lucy saunters over and sits on the cot next to him. 

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?” She smirks at him and he shrugs in apology as he thinks frantically back to the last thing he heard her say.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, I’m just not up to dissecting the messy state of politics at the moment. One era at a time is plenty for me.”

She shakes her head. “I was talking about a staff meeting at Stanford that ended up in a fistfight between a medieval history professor and a religion professor.”

“Oh,” is all he can say. He squints in confusion as her words catch up to him. “Wait, what?”

“Never mind.” Lucy chuckles lowly, biting her lip, and as he looks away, she scoots closer and slides her hand over his. The air shifts and he inhales sharply, because this suddenly feels quite different than their usual hangout. There’s a purpose in the way Lucy is approaching him, touching him. He feels a weight on his shoulder. Against his better judgment, he turns to look at her and finds her face close, her chin leaning on his arm as she stares up into his face. Her eyes are dark and searching, and he feels as naked before her as he ever has. She knows, she has to know what she is doing to him.

“Lucy, _please,_ ” he pleads and looks back at her, desperate, completely unable to look away. Her eyes burn him as she draws nearer and his heart stutters in his chest. Then the soft, warm lips he has dreamed about are pressed against his cheek, and he is done. The hand nearest her slips around her waist as the other lifts to brush the hair back from her cheek and cup her face. She pulls back enough to look into his eyes and he pauses to memorize how she looks. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are full of heat--of desire for _him_ —and as he strokes her cheek with his thumb, she closes them. 

“Garcia,” she whispers, and hearing his first name from her lips breaks what tiny resolve he has left. He leans in, letting himself relish the feel of her nose touching his, of her breath on his lips. 

Which is all he gets. There’s a knock at the door.

As Flynn cringes but starts to pull away, a frustrated whimper escapes her. It’s enough to make him say to hell with it, to hell with whoever’s at the door, and kiss her anyway, when Wyatt’s voice interrupts.

“Lucy? I need to talk to you.”

That’s better—or worse—than the cold shower he would otherwise need to make him pull away.

“He’ll leave,” she whispers, the gravel in her voice making it even harder for him to let her go. 

“No he won’t,” he breathes back as he lets his arms fall. “It’s okay, you can go to him,” he adds. It comes out sounding slightly bitter, but oh well. She won’t understand the double meaning.

Lucy doesn’t at all seem inclined to listen as she huffs and scowls at him with a stubborn set to her jaw and leans her forehead against his own. He gulps and closes his eyes.

“Lucy?” Wyatt calls again and she growls, finally standing up to go to the door. Pausing, she turns to look at him, biting her lip. Her gaze sweeps down him, setting him ablaze, before unabashedly meeting his eyes and making it crystal clear that she intends to pick up where they left off when she gets back. She goes.

Staring into space for how long he doesn’t know, it takes him a while to come back to his senses. 

“Shit. Shit. _Shit._ What do I do?”

As he falls back on the bed, he runs both hands over his face and allows himself to consider it.

Flynn has strongly suspected for a while now that if he started something, she would not only let him, she would participate—enthusiastically. Lingering looks, the unspoken heated conversations, the spoken heated conversations, the slightly less-than-innocent touches have all grown increasingly common and daring between them. It’s as if a barrier had broken when he’d held her in Chinatown. That alone has made it difficult enough to keep his distance. 

If she’s kissing him, showing him that she wants him? He’s toast.

Letting himself drift, he wonders. Would it be so bad? One kiss? Because he could—no, he couldn’t stop. Not if she didn’t want him to. One night? One night of falling into her, of pressing his love into her skin until it sinks in and covers her like a protective shield. One beautiful, perfect night of kissing her, touching her, telling her how precious she is, holding her, loving her fully and well, and then…

Leaving her. 

A vision of how wrecked she’d looked when they’d gotten back from Salem and Jessica had been there hits him strongly then. It’s enough to stop him in his tracks. He cannot be another man who loves her and leaves her.

That’s setting aside the plain truth that he wouldn’t be strong enough to do it anyway.

Keeping an ear out for steps in the hallway, Flynn quickly changes into his sweatpants and t-shirt and flicks off the overhead light, leaving only the small lamp on. He lies down under the covers on his left side, facing the wall, and tries to fall asleep by sheer force of will.

When she comes in a few minutes later, he feigns sleep, half-hoping she’ll call his bluff. But she won’t, because she’s Lucy. If she realizes he’s faking, she’ll let him be. 

The sound of her clothes dropping to the floor as she changes might kill him.

After cutting off the lamp, she flops noisily onto the bed. In any other situation, he’d probably laugh at her bouncing around on the cot trying to wake him. Now, that post-Salem vision is firmly planted in the front of his mind. He can’t ignore it.

A long minute later, she finally stops and sighs. “Another night,” she breathes to herself. Flynn bites his lip as hard as he can to keep from groaning at the pain and frustration of it. Lucy actually wants him, is, in fact, determined to have him. There’s nothing he wants more than to give himself to her, except her happiness. 

That “another night” is ominous. Several things have to go exactly right for him to be able to leave on the next mission. Rittenhouse had better jump tomorrow. If they don’t, if he’s still here with Lucy and she’s coming onto him, he is absolutely, one hundred percent beyond screwed.

\------------------------------------------------------

Fortunately and unfortunately, Emma obliges him for once. They are awakened by the claxon of the mothership alarm. Flynn only has time to hastily change and grab the package he’s kept hidden under his mattress before they’re assembled in the bay. They’re headed back to 1853 California. He’d be stoked to play cowboy again if he didn’t feel like he was headed to the gallows.

Now that they’ve got unlimited power, though Emma doesn’t know that yet, doesn’t know how they’re doing it, the five of them regularly go on mission: Rufus, Jiya, Wyatt, Lucy and Flynn. That way, they’ve got two soldiers and two pilots, just in case. They don’t finish that phrase, but they all know the rest: in case one of the pilots gets killed again, the rest of them won’t get stuck.

It’s almost scary how well it all goes according to his plan. Rufus, Lucy and Wyatt are going to track down a gang that Emma’s most likely targeting. Rufus will jump back to grab Jiya and Flynn, who will then attempt to track down the rest of the Rittenhouse team. 

When Jiya, Rufus and he step out of the lifeboat, they find that Wyatt has already left to get clothes for himself and Rufus. Lucy and Flynn are using their clothes from the Harriet Tubman trip, since they hadn’t been wearing anything ridiculous like Wyatt, or had any damage, and Jiya had a plain dress she’d collected two trips ago in the 1830s. Out here, it should suffice. Rufus, understandably, didn’t want to wear the slave clothes he’d worn then. 

“Wyatt told us to head to the outskirts of town after you guys got here.” Rufus tells them. Lucy hugs Jiya fiercely before Rufus takes her aside. She’s been doing that with all of them whenever they part, ever since Rufus had died.

It leaves Flynn and Lucy alone. This is it. He is going to have to say goodbye without her even knowing it. He bites his tongue hard. The two of them stand awkwardly for a moment as Lucy wrings her hands.

“Um…do I uh…are we okay?” She stares at the ground as she stammers, and he steps closer. This is the last time he’s going to spend with her; he isn’t wasting it on awkwardness.

“Yeah, we’re okay. Aren’t we?” Flynn tries not to show his panic at the thought that they might not be. If she is upset with him, if he has another reason not to do it, he knows he will crumble. 

She flicks her eyes to him before looking down and smiling shyly as she blushes. “We’re okay. We’re good,” she nods. But then she purses her lips and looks at him with worry clear on her face.

“You don’t look like you’re sure about that, Lucy.”

“It’s not…that. This mission feels off. I have a feeling something is going to happen.” Her hand falls to his arm as she moves to face him. “I don’t like this one. Please be careful, okay?”

It’s lucky that he’s had a lot of practice not letting his feelings show on his face. It takes all of his effort not to wince. He hates lying to her and tries to avoid it, always has preferred to misdirect or state half-truths instead, not that it’s much better. But he’ll do it if he has to. 

“I can take care of myself,” Flynn answers and it suffices. She rolls her eyes at him. “You be safe. Stay close to Wyatt. He’ll…take care of you. And Rufus, of course.”

Lucy squints at him like she can’t figure out what his game is, talking about Wyatt like that. Her suspicion is so reminiscent of their earliest interactions that he can’t help but grin despite his breaking heart. She’s come so far—they have come so far. And if he thinks instead about how he won’t ever see that look again, he’s going to cry.

Then she’s hurling herself at him to hug him goodbye. It’s balm and poison to his heart all at once, and thank goodness it’s goodbye, because this itself is going to kill him. She’s warm, soft and small as she clings to him with all her strength and he wraps her up tight. It’s forever and no time at all, as he tries to memorize the feel of her against him: her coffee and spice smell that has taken over his room, her soft hair against his cheek, her arms around him fierce and tender, the way she feels like home.

Lucy steps away and his hands jerk to grab her back before he can stop them. She doesn’t see. She’s looking to Rufus, who nods that he’s ready. This is it. It’s too soon and too late and Flynn has never hated time more.

“Oh,” she turns to add. “Don’t forget. When we get back, we are _going_ to finish our conversation from last night.”

A combination shocked laugh and sob escapes him. Her eyes are sparkling at him as she’s cocking an eyebrow and smirking, and oh, how he aches for the life where she flirts with him at inappropriate times to catch him off his guard. He rubs a hand over his face as he blinks back the tears that want to come. Hopefully she’ll take it for embarrassment. 

Flynn’s brain somehow works quickly enough to make sure that the last words he’ll ever speak to her aren’t a lie. “Lucy, I would like nothing better than to finish that conversation. Be safe.”

“You too,” she grins crookedly at him with a saucy wink, and he prays that this moment sears into his brain until his last breath. He weakly smiles back before she turns and walks away. His heart goes with her.

 

“So…are we going to pretend that this is a regular mission, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Flynn blinks the tears back yet again and looks over to Jiya. Well, he’s going to have to tell her at some point. Apparently they’ve reached it. At least it’s Jiya and not Rufus. She’s more likely to agree to help.

“After we track down the Rittenhouse backup to figure out whoever’s here, if I’m right about…something…I need you to do me a favor.”

She is watching him warily. “What’s the favor?”

He takes a deep breath in and out. “I need you to jump me back to 2012 and leave me there.”

Jiya just stares at him for a long time. “Are you--? I mean, Rufus always used to say you were a psychopath, but you’ve been, well, normal isn’t the word…are you actually crazy?”

Pinching his nose, he groans. “No! Listen! There’s a way I can fix, well, not all of it, but I know a way that I can fix some of it. A way to take back the advantage from Rittenhouse.”

“Well, alright, then, we’ll go back and run it by Denise. We’ll make a plan and plot it out, get everything lined up. You don’t need to kill yourself to fix anything. That’s what it will do, it will kill you. We’ve fixed crossing our lifelines, but you know what future Lucy and Wyatt said. It’s not safe and it’s not healthy at all, especially not long-term.”

“I know that, but it’s worth it. You’ll be leaving me, sort of like a sleeper agent. The journal gave me a few leads I want to follow up on, leads that if I follow, I can chip away at Rittenhouse before they get hold of the time machine. I’ve been planning this for months, Jiya, it isn’t impulsive. I know what I’m doing.”

“Is this about your family? Because, I’m sorry, but if you bring them back now before Rittenhouse is gone, they’ll just be in more danger. If you’re dead, we might not be able to save them again.”

“It’s not…it’s not about them. Though, if while I’m there I can figure out a way to save them without messing up my stealing the mothership…I’m going to do it, Jiya. That part I haven’t fully figured out. Either way, I still need to go. Now.”

He really doesn’t want to tell Jiya the main reason he’s going to 2012 specifically. Of all the team, she’ll still probably help him if she knows, after her kidnapping and Rufus’s murder. But she doesn’t deserve to carry that burden, to hold any guilt over it.

“What about Lucy?” Flynn blanches as she pokes at that fresh wound. “Does she have any idea what you’re planning?”

“No,” he whispers. 

“She wouldn’t let you go if she knew.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” he chokes out.

Jiya stares at him fiercely. “So why? Why would you do that to her?”

“I’m doing it FOR LUCY!” He bellows and pulls back when she cringes, running his hand through his hair. “According to the journal, after this…if I stay, Lucy gets hurt.” The pilot doesn’t break her glare. “Look, when you were stuck in the 1800s, you demanded that we not come after you. To protect Rufus, you made that unilateral decision. No, he didn’t listen, but that’s not the point. You decided that his safety was more important than the pain that would put the both of you through. Even if that meant you lived and died in the past alone and he never got to see you again. I’m just doing the same thing.”

That cracks Jiya’s façade, and he can’t meet her eyes as they fill with sympathy. “You love her.”

Flynn just blinks in response. It was obvious even before this, no point in denying it.

“Does she know?”

“I don’t know.” She widens her eyes in exasperation. “I’m leaving her a letter to explain.”

“A—a _letter?!_ ”

“I…look, Jiya. Like you said, she won’t let me go if I tell her, but I can’t leave her without an explanation. There’s more to it, but it’s personal, and it’s for her. She’ll know then and hopefully she’ll understand.”

She stares at his face impassively. “We need to go,” he adds, and he can see the second she breaks.

“Okay, okay. We’ll go. I will help you do it, on the condition that you make absolutely sure whatever you do doesn’t mess up the timeline for any of the team in the past.”

“Done.”

Technically he isn’t lying. He’s fixing it for them.

 

They find one of Emma’s backup guys and Flynn persuades him to reveal who had come. He verifies—no Jessica. Jiya throws him a sharp look at that, but doesn’t question it. It also sounds like their team had taken off with the gang, so there’s no way for them to rendezvous anyway. It’s time. Jiya makes the jump.

Flynn lingers in his seat. Once she leaves him, his opportunity to change his mind, to go home to Lucy, is gone forever.

He pulls out the letter and pictures from his inner jacket pocket, leaving the memory stick in there, and swallows hard as he looks at the picture of the two of them. They had been on the bunker couch, laughing and smiling at each other when Connor had taken it without their knowledge. It was the only one they had, and he had made a copy for each of them. After unbuckling, he takes a long look at the picture, at her beautiful smile. Focusing his mind on that smile, he tucks her copy into the envelope and seals it. 

Jiya looks down at the envelope and back up at him. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Biting his lip, he nods and finally manages to choke out “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Jiya’s arms are around him and he’s hugging her in return. 

“Am I not the creepy uncle anymore?”

She pulls back and smirks. “More like the sarcastic older brother. _Much_ older.”

Flynn wants to hug her again he’s so thankful for that levity. It gives him the ability to calm and hand her the envelope. Opening his mouth, but realizing he has nothing left to say, he closes it. 

“We’ll take care of her,” she promises, and he looks at her with a grateful nod and then he climbs out of the lifeboat. With clanking and whooshing, she’s gone. He’s alone.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

Two months later, it’s done. 

The guilt comes of course, as usual, but it’s not actually as heavy as he’d thought. Jessica was Rittenhouse. That was clear in the way she had fought the guy. But without the help from the two Rittenhouse agents lying in wait, who Flynn had taken out, it had happened. He does feel terrible for this Wyatt, knowing the exact pain he is going through at the moment. But he also knows future Wyatt will no longer have to worry about running into his wife and having to choose her or the team, won’t have to worry that any obstacle they run across is a result of his own poor decision-making. 

Wyatt won’t have to feel conflicted anymore about loving Lucy, about being with her. Not that he really gives a damn how Wyatt feels, but it will be easier for Lucy once it’s easier for Wyatt.

It’s taken all of Flynn’s strength not to go to her now. Part of him wants to just tell her to take off, to avoid all of it, but she would never listen. Not to mention that he hadn’t truly been the one to drag her into this. Her parents will make her part of this even if he doesn’t, and on the wrong side. Flynn has to stay away and let it all happen as it had before.

The burn in his chest from missing her is his only constant companion.

It’s a strange thing, knowing she’s off being a teacher, naïve and happy (he’s assuming, because of course, this isn’t really his Lucy). It’s even more bizarre knowing that HE is in Maryland, happily ensconced in a suburban commuter dad life that is so far removed from his life now. Lorena and Iris are alive. He’s still trying to figure that out. For just the three of them, it would be best to tell them to run. But that would leave Rittenhouse out there, free and clear to wreak havoc on the past, to murder other families, other beloved children. Connor, Rufus, Jiya, Lucy, they’re all going to be in it no matter what. At one time, he might have been able to brush that off (though maybe not—Lucy has always mattered), but not now. 

Flynn gets half a crazy idea, one he HATES, but it’s the only thing he can think of that has even a chance of working. He puts out feelers with some of his most trusted contacts, impersonating his current self but using his own separate burner phone, and waits to hear back. Going to Maryland now isn’t a wise idea. The health effects are most likely worse the closer one gets to one’s previous self, so he doesn’t dare risk it until it’s necessary. 

The extremely long wait in between the main events is the worst part. He’s living under a new alias that he’d created in 2018. He’d been able to create a trail and access the last bit of the money he’d won placing bets in the past. (The DHS had missed an account. Flynn had figured what Agent Christopher didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.) It gives him far too much time to second-guess himself. Flynn’s been over all of this a million times. He KNOWS this is the only way to even attempt to keep all three of his girls safe and happy. So what if he’s lonely and heartbroken, worried about his family and craving Lucy like a drug? It’s no more than he deserves after all he’s done, and it’s worth much more to give them everything they deserve.

He starts planning side missions, ones that shouldn’t screw with the timeline too much. Nothing huge, nothing that will affect the major turning points at all, but they’ll bring down Rittenhouse’s numbers and assets some. A piece of stolen information here, an operative taken out there. It’s not time travel and it’s nothing monumental, but at least it makes him feel like he’s still of some use to the team. Plus, it gives him something to do other than mope, worry, and wish he was back in that godforsaken bunker. With Lucy.


	3. I Can't Eat Away the Way That You Ate My Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn executes a plan to save his family in the past, while the rest of the team, sans Lucy, executes a plan to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, no more (or very little) angst. But this chapter may hurt.

Sixteen months go by.  


It’s time to go to Maryland. Flynn will actually get to SEE them, see them alive and well, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

He’s got everything in place. The documents, the “bodies”, the security…there are still so many things that could go wrong. Starting with the fact that he has to approach Lorena and try to convince her to follow his insane plan. An insane plan that is going to break her husband’s heart—his heart—and put her and Iris on the run.

Lorena had always been alright with weird, she’d handled being married to him with his constant dangerous “need-to-know” trips like a champ. But this is beyond the pale. The only reasons he’d taken it so well were because he’d been half-drunk, lost in his grief and the fact that no one kills a family for stumbling across something fake. 

Shaking, not just from the cold, Flynn stands on his own front step trying to silence the terrible memories that are screaming for his attention. There had been years of precious memories before that. He would gladly welcome any of those at the moment. It’s perhaps beneficial, though, to remember why he needs to do things this way. He knocks on his own front door.

The door opens and Lorena looks at him in delighted bewilderment. Oh, she’s so beautiful. “Why are you knocking? What are you doing home?” She asks, but words are not happening right now.

Iris yells, “Daddy!” 

Flynn would honestly give his life 100 times over just to live the moment she runs to him, her face beaming in delight. He bends down to catch her and she throws her small arms around his neck. Oh, to freeze time forever here, smelling her baby shampoo scent and letting her squeeze his neck too tight. But Lorena is looking at him and the years haven’t dulled his ability to read her expression. It is dawning on her that some sort of bullshit is afoot and he probably has about thirty seconds to start talking.

“Iris, why don’t you go up to your room, okay? We’ll be up in a little while.”

She pouts adorably at him and he kisses her baby soft cheek and ruffles her hair. “Listen to your mama, baby. I’ll be up in a bit.”

As much as it tears at him, this is too important to risk getting on his wife’s bad side already. He lets Iris go and watches her bounce away, feeling Lorena’s hawk-eyed stare on him. Once Iris’s bedroom door closes, she rounds on him. “Okay, you need to tell me what the hell is going on. Why are you home? Why are you wearing different clothes? And why do you look like shit?”

He chuckles at that and she glares. “Sorry. I just forgot how you used to do that.”

“Used to…what?”

“Here, let’s go in the kitchen. I promise I’ll explain. Just fair warning, it—it’s bad, Lorena.”

Flynn places his coat on the back of his chair, briefly noting how surreal that is—home, his chair, a place he belongs. They sit at the table across from each other and they take each other in. It’s been almost six years, but Lorena looks the same and he isn’t sure why that’s surprising. Maybe it’s just that he’s changed so much since her. He still loves her, always will, but it’s softened and gentled over time. She waves her hand at him pointedly and he nods.

“It’s going to sound insane, but I’m not, I promise. Um…” He’s practiced this a thousand times in his head over the past year, but it’s different actually speaking it out loud. “When you said I look like shit, you meant I look old. Right?”

Lorena cringes a little. “Well, older…and also that you’re looking at us like…just tell me.”

“It’s because I am. Older. About six years.”

“That…isn’t possible. Garcia, just tell me what’s really—“

Pulling his collar to the side, he shows her the healed scar on his neck. Then he unbuttons his shirt enough to reveal the one on his chest. Lorena’s bewildered as she comes closer to view the scars she’s never seen, but have clearly had time to heal, and his heart cracks as she places her familiar hands on him. It feels like forever that he’s gone without touch. After the first time he’d lived today, until—and since—Lucy. As she comes to mind, he moves to re-button his shirt, feeling weirdly like he’s being unfaithful to both of them. To Lorena for thinking of Lucy while she’s touching his chest, and to Lucy because Lorena is touching him, which is…absurd, but…what about this isn’t?

It takes a ton of patience and a lot of repeated explanation. Flynn finally has to show her the crime scene printouts, which he had really wanted to avoid, to get her to believe. Lorena, obviously, freaks out. Once she gets past the tears and the knee-jerk, panic-induced desire to grab Iris and run immediately, she asks him what they will do now, fully trusting him to have the best plan. He has missed being that person, the one immediately relied upon to do the right thing.

When he tells her, though, that she and Iris are going to have to leave and allow him to stage a murder scene for younger him to witness as he fights off the Rittenhouse assassins and flees, she balks. He takes one of her hands as he tries to make her understand.

“Lorena, I can’t—I CAN’T—let that happen to you and Iris. Not when I’ve got a way to save you.” He wipes the tears that have collected in his eyes. “I’ve been trying to save you this whole time.”

“But why, WHY, do we have to make you think we died? I can’t do that to you! How can you do that to yourself? I…that had to be…and we were really…oh, Garcia.” Sitting beside him, she pulls him in this time, and he lets her pull his face to rest on her shoulder as they both cry. For a few minutes he lets himself just take comfort in the hold of his warm, breathing, living wife.

When he finally pulls back, Lorena asks again. “Why do you have to think we died? Why can’t we fake all of our deaths and go away together?”

Flynn licks his lips and gulps. 

“First of all, you would never be safe with me there. Secondly, it’s not just about us. They’re trying to remake American history, to go back in time and prevent every liberty, every civil right…they tried to help the Confederacy win and that’s just one mission, Lorena. By me stealing the time machine, I hold that back. If I never steal it, they’ll be doing all that unchecked, and we won’t even know. So many people will suffer in so many ways. Some like us—other families, other little girls will be murdered.”

Although she clearly hates it, hates it more than even he does, Flynn can tell by the change in her blue eyes that she sees his point and is on the verge of acquiescence. He plays his trump card. 

“Even if we pretend like none of that matters, I can’t risk the two of you like that. These people, they’re…they won’t stop at anything to protect their power. I will always take priority as a target, so me being away from you is safer. Going with you would make us conspicuous. We can’t risk Iris like that.”

Lorena swallows and nods shakily. 

“Okay. So, we’ll be on our own for a few years. Until these people are gone. Then you’ll come find us.”

Clenching his jaw in pain, Flynn jerks his head. “No. Once you and Iris are safely away, I’ll never see you again.”

“What? Why?!”

Little as he ever wants her to know any of what he’s done, to see disgust grow in blue eyes that only looked at him with love, he has to tell her. She has to understand that he is not the man who was her husband. He’s not the man who laughed at her pranks even as they annoyed the hell out of him, who grumbled good naturedly at her cold feet in bed, or even who gave her an arctic cold shoulder when he was angry with her. She cannot be left thinking there’s a chance, if he lives (which he knows he won’t, but Lorena will be even less likely to agree if he tells her), that he will come be part of her family again. Lorena deserves to be free and clear to live her life without being bound to him and the destruction he has wrought. Not to mention that she deserves to have a man who hasn’t—though he loves her, always will—grieved, moved on and fallen in love with another woman.

With many more tears, she insists that she loves him no matter what, so he has to get specific. He tells her about Lincoln, about the Nazis, about Al Capone. While she admirably doesn’t shrink away from him, her resistance crumbles and she looks like she’s going to be sick. It’s exactly what he needs from her and he understands, but it’s still heart-crushing. He shoves the hurt of that down to deal with later. 

Once Lorena is fully on board, he calls the team he has on standby. It’s uncomfortable to trust anyone at this point, but these two guys would get them out of the country safely and bury them deep underground. They’re the only people he trusts, apart from his team that he’d assembled to grab the mothership, and none of those people can know since other-Flynn can’t know. The plan is not to even tell him their destination—Lorena will choose one of a handful of options once they’re en route.

Lorena asks him to stay and spend time with Iris and he can’t help but give in. It’s not the wisest choice, he’d planned to hide away. Iris may give something away when other-Flynn comes home—but he thinks of that three minutes that he’s longed for and decides to risk it. They play together in Iris’s room. He’s delighting in her expressions, her giggles, her four year old dramatics, her every smile. He gives her as many tickles, hugs and kisses as she will allow, ignoring the bittersweet ache in his chest.

Trying for nonchalant, when he knows the clock is winding down, he tells her. “Hey, baby. Daddy needs to tell you something.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, still coloring a pink blob that is supposed to be Peppa Pig, he thinks.

“You know I always love you, right? No matter what?” She nods and looks up at him for a second before focusing back on her picture.

“If I ever can’t be with you, just know that it isn’t because I don’t want to be. Wherever I am, I love you and am trying to do the best thing for you. Okay?”

Iris frowns and looks up at him. “Are you leaving, Daddy?”

The lump in his throat is making it difficult to talk. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just remember. Alright?”

“Alright. Can you draw me a dinosaur?”

Flynn huffs wryly at her four year old priorities. Anyway, he’s told her and hopefully it will stick. He can’t bear the thought of her believing he wanted to abandon her when all he wants is to save her.

When it’s nearly time for other-Flynn to get home, he goes to Lorena to remind her what to do. At midnight, she will get up to “check on Iris”, leaving other-Flynn in their bed. She’ll grab Iris and head to join him in the attic. He will then go stage the dummy bodies—he knows it sounds stupid; Lorena didn’t buy it until she’d seen, but he’d spared no expense and been pleasantly surprised by the results—in Iris’s bed. They are eerily realistic, and since they are supposed to be asleep it should work. If not, he’ll be here to protect them, armed to the teeth. There are enough blood packets and realistic gore inside to fool his former self with the quick glimpse he’ll get while he’s fighting. He fights down the nausea at that memory. In a few hours, it will be just that, a memory, only real inside his head. He’s so close to winning—or losing—and he is dizzy at the thought that he might actually pull this off.

Since he had arrived, so had two SUVs that he didn’t recognize. They were parked just far enough from the house to not arouse suspicion if he hadn’t been looking. Flynn shoots off a text to his team to make sure the SUVs are gone before they come. It’s unnerving to see proof that Rittenhouse had been watching most of the day before attacking. But at least he’d beaten them here.

They set up a sleeping bag for Iris, and he found his old noise-canceling headphones to put on her. They can’t chance her crying out in fear if she is awake. He grabbed their portable DVD player as well, stacked about ten different DVD options, and collected some snacks and water, just in case they had to stay a while or if bringing her up here woke her up fully. It’s only a precaution. Iris has always been a deep sleeper, once she finally quieted the monsters in her head. They have that in common, but his monsters have only grown louder and scarier over the years. He prays she has a different outcome.

Flynn waits alone for hours. The sound doesn’t travel up to the attic, so hopefully it goes both ways, but he still knows every minute of what’s happening below. When he comes home, what they eat, putting Iris to bed after clearing her room of monsters, doing the dishes, showering with Lorena; he relives it all in his mind as it’s happening in real time. The tension starts to get to him, his head throbbing like mad. He tries to distract himself by picturing what life will be like for Lorena and Iris. Hopefully she’ll choose one of the locations near the beach. Iris loves the ocean. Of course, maybe that’s exactly why she wouldn’t choose it. He pictures Iris growing up, what she might look like at 11, 12, 13, 18, 25. Pictures how happy they’ll be when they can come home to the US, settle down, get that dog Lorena has always wanted and just live. 

The exercise makes him hope, more than he’s allowed himself before, that he is doing the right thing here. Yes, he knows they will miss him. He hates that they’ll have to grieve him and move on, and hates that he knows exactly how much pain he is putting his former self through. But it’s more than worth it for them to have any more days of walking this earth. 

The practice hasn’t worked so well when he’s tried to do it with Lucy. Wyatt’s inevitable presence in the picture ruins some of it. The thought of her free to study and teach again, to smile, to breathe free, to one day have children and know they won’t have to worry about Rittenhouse…there’s still a bit of bitterness to it, but it’s mostly sweet. Lucy pregnant, Lucy with a baby that looks like her…it’s a beautiful picture. It might help him more if he could stop picturing the baby with his own eyes.

Finally, at 11:56, the pull-down staircase swings open with a soft thwack. He comes down partway, grabbing Iris so Lorena can steady herself. He waits until they’re all the way at the top before he goes to stage the scene. He does his best while moving as fast as he possibly can, because if he throws up all over it, it’s going to ruin it.

Iris is still fast asleep on Lorena’s lap when he returns and he tucks her into her sleeping bag as Lorena makes sure the door is closed and listens for other-Flynn. She eventually comes to sit next to him and for a while he just cherishes the feeling of being a family again. It’s a special kind of extra-peaceful calm to sit with Lorena and watch their daughter sleep, the way they’ve done a thousand times. He’s prayed for this moment so many times in the last years, prayed for just a few more minutes with them, and somehow, despite everything, he’s gotten it. Redemption. 

After some time, Lorena finally speaks.

“So, how did you end up in the middle of all this anyway? I mean, even if you found the transaction, how did you know how to steal and—is it fly?—an actual time machine?”

“It’s pilot. And…that’s a long story.” With a lot of pieces he can’t—or doesn’t want to—tell her. Such as the whole first act after he stole the mothership. But he can tell her some of it. The highlights, at least.

“Two weeks after tonight, the first time, I was in a bar in Sao Paulo. Drinking, a lot. And a woman walked in and approached me…”

What Flynn had forgotten was how wonderful a listener Lorena was. With such an invested audience, he ends up detailing his whole history through time from this night through to this night, the sequel. With a few select…details…omitted. However, different though he may be, his wife still knows him. She gives him an appraising look, then a sad smile before she speaks.

“How long have you been in love with Lucy?”

He panics and sputters, chokes on his spit, and swallows before he looks back at her.

“I—Lorena—I…” Flynn stops himself. As much as he would love to deny it, to say he has loved none but her since they met, he can’t lie to her. With a gulp and a fierce look back at  
her, he explains. “I still love you, Lorena, you should know. I always will. I never planned…I never planned it.”

Lorena closes her eyes and winces slightly. “Garcia, I’m not angry with you. I know you love me. And I was dead. For years. You have to know I never want you to be as alone as you were. But I still can’t pretend the thought doesn’t hurt some.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and lowers his head in pain. “I’m sorry, Lorena,” he gasps out before tentatively reaching out to touch her arm. She slips closer and lets him put his arm around her as she leans against him. 

“How long were you together? Before you left?”

Flynn’s eyes dart sideways to look at her in surprise as he shakes his head. “We weren’t.”

“You broke it off?”

“No. We were never together.”

She pulls back to gape at him in disbelief. 

“Never together. I don’t understand.”

He shrugs. “Lucy and I never had a relationship beyond friendship. We never kissed, never held hands, we never even had a conversation about it. 

“You never talked about it at all? Never even came close to…anything?” 

There’s a tightening around her eyes and he can’t understand why she’s still pushing it since the thought does appear to be painful. “We almost kissed once, that’s it, and I left the next day.”

“You nearly kissed her and then just took off the next day? Why?” Something in her face falls. “Was it because of us? Or me?”

His mouth twists as he hesitates and looks down. “Honestly, I wish I could say it was, Lorena. But even as I was trying to bring you back, I had already grieved the loss of us even though I couldn’t accept your death. After saving you I told her I couldn’t come back to you and I meant it. I left for her.”

Lorena gets a look on her face that he recognizes and has always disliked—her _what the hell have you done, you idiot_ look. “But you love each other.”

He rolls his eyes at her clear bias even as it hits him surreal this conversation is. “No. I love her. She loves Wyatt. She was fond of me, yes, but…”

“Wyatt? That douchebag? Did she tell you she was in love with him?”

“N-no, but…look, the journal…do you really want to hear this?”

She studies him for a minute as she thinks it over. “Yes, I do. I mean…I can see you in there, the man I recognize, but you ARE different, Garcia—not that I think you’re pure evil—“ She interrupts herself because she probably can’t miss his grimace at that. “Because I don’t, although yeah, you’ve done some things that I can’t...” He loves her for not saying it, though her meaning is clear. She can’t make her peace with all his actions. It’s alright, neither can he. “But you’ve been through so much and so many years without us that it’s changed you. I guess I’ve started to see you and my Garcia as two separate people.”

Flynn bites his lip as he nods slowly and accepts that. He knows it’s true, but it’s surprising that she can compartmentalize to that extent.

“Also, what else have I got to do up here? If I sit here and freak out about what’s going to happen downstairs, I don’t think I can do it.” Lorena twists her hair around her finger, which has always been her tell, but she composes herself after a beat and smirks. “So yes, I would rather hear about how you’re still a complete moron when it comes to romance.”

He scoffs, determined to prove her wrong, even as it warms his heart to be on the end of her gentle teasing again. “Well, in the journal, she wrote about how we developed a relationship. But it didn’t end well and it broke both our hearts. Then she and Wyatt couldn’t work anything out after that and she was left alone. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So she said all of that exactly?”

“No.” He heaves a deep sigh. “Nothing in the journal was really straightforward, apart from the history targets. It was more snippets, little memories, or her feelings about what happened rather than what happened itself.”

No way is he going to tell her what the first mention of their relationship in the journal actually was. His face heats just at the thought. It had nearly given him a heart attack the first time he’d read it. _I finally found out what Flynn’s mouth was made for, aside from sarcastic quips and empty threats._ That line had chiseled itself into his brain, even as he tried to forget it, and had popped into his head at the most inappropriate times possible. Back when he'd just looked forward to the day she wanted him, before his heart got too involved. Usually when they were on opposite sides and she was yelling at him. 

“Okay. So, she said that you got together, were together for a while, then you broke up and she tried to make things work with Wyatt, but couldn’t?”

“Lucy said she felt responsible for driving me to do…something I did afterward. I’m not sure if I died or betrayed the team or got arrested or what. She wished she could move on with Wyatt for both their sakes because he loved her, but she was too sad…missed me…felt guilty about me.”

Lorena’s giving him that look again as she chokes in exasperation. “You are an absolute idiot. It didn’t occur to you that maybe what you did that broke her heart was you leaving exactly like you did? Or that the reason she couldn’t move on with Wyatt was because she loved you and not him? Or that this is the same journal that sent you to the Hindenburg and erased her sister, so maybe it wasn’t 100% accurate after all the stuff you guys changed?”

Flynn’s head spins and aches as he takes in what she’s saying. She can’t be right. She CAN’T be. Lucy hadn’t loved him, he would have known. She couldn’t have loved him…the journal had to be right. Lorena hadn’t read it, she didn’t see the pages and pages where Lucy poured out her pain and heartbreak. He had left because he couldn’t be responsible for that. Him leaving alone couldn’t have done that to her. Besides…

“I left before anything could happen. So even if you were right, which you aren’t, it’ll be easier this way for her.” He has to believe that, has to believe the journal. And Wyatt does love her, he knows. With him and Jessica both out of the way, he’ll finally start acting like it. Right?

“Mm-hmm,” Lorena responds in that infuriating _yes, dear_ tone that never actually means “yes, dear”. He opens his mouth to argue when there’s a small creak from downstairs. He squeezes Lorena before moving himself between them and the entrance and pulling out his Glock.

It’s less than five minutes in real-time, but it feels like five days. Five days of reliving the worst moments of his life. He only manages not to vomit when he hears the silencer shots because he hasn’t eaten in quite a while. There are the sounds of struggle, an anguished yell of rage from himself, followed by several more shots and glass breaking. He’d thrown himself out the window and the Rittenhouse hit squad chased after. With his superior knowledge of the area, he’d been able to get away by hiding in a large drainage pipe that the neighborhood had wanted fixed—too easy for kids to get lost in it.

Flynn doesn’t dare move from his spot, not for at least another five minutes. They won’t hang around long in case the neighbors heard anything, and he knows he needs to do the next part fast, but he has to make sure they’re all truly gone first. Suddenly, Lorena’s arms come around him from behind. She’s shaking with the effort of not crying, and he grips one hand tightly in return until he thinks it might be safe to move.

Pulling a 9mm from his holster, he offers it to her. “If anyone comes up those stairs other than me, don’t hesitate to shoot.”

“I won’t,” She replies with steel as she takes it, and he sees that the shaking is from pure wrath.

He gives her as much of a smile as he can manage. “I’ll call up if it’s clear.” Opening the staircase, he slips down as quietly as he can, and clears the house room by room. All clear. 

Choking down bile, he makes himself go to Iris’s room. It’s…far too believable, which is a positive, but…He has to prop himself up against the wall as his vision goes blurry and a sharp pain shoots through his skull. Pausing until it abates, he grabs the plastic-lined duffel bag he had deposited in the linen closet earlier and packs the dummies in it for disposal. There was enough blood spilled from the packets for any investigators to automatically assume loss of life. 

Lorena had asked earlier about DNA, and he’d only had to reply “blood banking” for her to know what he’d done. When Iris was a baby, she’d really latched onto the idea after a doctor down the street had talked about how banking their own blood could save their lives in a pinch, safer and more effective than a stranger’s blood. It had been far too easy for him to get in and out to retrieve it.

Leaving the bag, he heads back to open the attic again and call up softly “It’s me. All clear.” He treads up the ladder-like stairs and Lorena looks at him in question. “All done,” he answers. Grabbing his phone, he shoots off a text to Alex, the friend who will be picking Lorena and Iris up in an unmarked car. 

There’s a lump in his throat as he turns back to Lorena. She throws her arms around him and they kneel there embracing for a long moment, both crying. This is to be their only goodbye.

“Garcia, I want you to be happy. I love you. I know you don’t think you can, but if you find a way, you take it. You hear me?” There’s sorrow in her eyes but also a fierce anger that will not be denied. 

He sets his jaw and nods. “You too, Lorena, please. I love you, too. Iris, make sure she knows—“

“She does. And I will.”

Flynn leans down and rests his forehead against hers, sharing the heartbreak, and he kisses her back when she leans in to give him a gentle kiss. Gathering Iris, still miraculously asleep in her sleeping bag, into his arms, he heads to the stairs. They head out the basement entrance and quietly make their way to the waiting car a few doors down. There are no lights turning on in neighbor’s homes as far as he can see, no sirens, and as much as he wants to be with them, they need to get safely away ASAP. 

Everything that should be said already has this time, and he’s grateful. Lorena slides into the back seat and he squeezes Iris’s precious form gently to his chest before kissing her soft head, caressing her cheek, and placing her gently on the backseat with her head in her mother’s lap. He stares, imprinting their faces into his memory, praying this picture will overwrite the other last memory that has been branded into his brain for the last five years. They drive off into the night, into their new life, as he slips away into the darkness. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

It has been a long two months.

Not quite the longest of his life, but close. At least he had planned ahead, stockpiled food and water in various hidey holes, which he had carefully rented with cash during the past year. The current one, where he’s been for the past three weeks, is an empty shipping container tucked away in a storage yard in the Port of Baltimore. The FBI (and, it’s left unstated on the news, but he knows, the NSA and CIA) are looking for Garcia Flynn, although they are fairly sure he has left the country. It’s lonely, primitive, dirty and bleak, but at least there are no guards, and at least Iris and Lorena are alive and well. Alex had contacted his burner to let him know they had arrived safe at their undisclosed location before Flynn had destroyed the phone.

As far as he can tell, everything has gone according to plan. Maybe even the fact that Flynn is dying.

The headaches he’d shaken off as stress-induced, the double-vision the night Iris and Lorena had “died”, they come more and more until some days all he can do is lie on his mat, hold his head, and pray that he falls asleep and doesn’t wake up.

It hurts more now, being alone, being unable to do anything useful. He can't help but think of that moment when Lorena's eyes had changed, when she heard only _some_ of what he'd done. He also can’t shake the thought that maybe Lorena was right. Maybe he had abandoned Lucy and broken her heart. He should have kissed her that night. He can only hope that Lorena was wrong whenever his dreams twist into nightmares and show him a Lucy in pain. 

At night, his vision clears and the ache dims enough that he can slip out to look at the water. With his shaggy beard and long hair, along with his shabby clothes, he is reasonably sure no one seeing him would recognize him. He sticks to the shadows anyway.

Flynn is sitting on a secluded dock in the seedier part of the port, enjoying the warm breeze and dangling his feet, thinking of them again, cycling through the best memories, when it happens. At first he thinks the pins and needles running down his legs are from sitting against the wood, but when he moves to stand, his legs don’t respond.

So, this is how he dies. If he were more lucid, he might be surprised at how mundane it is.

The numbness travels up one side of his body and his vision whites out. This is it. His last fully lucid thought is to get in the water, and he manages to throw his head forward enough for the momentum to pull the rest of him into the dark cold of the Atlantic. 

His body can’t be identified, he’s known this all along. There can’t be two Garcia Flynns, not unless they want Rittenhouse to know what the lifeboat can do. It’s a grim reality, but at least there will be no call to his next of kin, no news stories to torture Lucy with in the future.

As he sinks, he hears Lorena laughing, sees her walking toward him beaming on their wedding day. Sees Iris’s cloudy gray eyes staring up at him the night she was born. Sees Lucy wink at him with a grin. The cold and wet recede as the memories surround him, and the last thing he feels are two tiny loving arms throwing themselves around his neck in welcome.

 

_Two weeks earlier_

Flynn is sitting on the dock, shivering in the drizzle. The fresh air, despite the smell, feels too good in his lungs to give it up because of a little rain. He’s cycling through his best memories, trying to hold onto them in his clear moments as much as he can, when he hears footsteps.

Familiar footsteps.

So, this is how he dies. Well, he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

“If you’re going to shoot, go ahead and do it, Wyatt.”

He hears the start of a familiar scoff, and everything goes black.


	4. How Do Broken Hearts Get Strong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy gets the surprise of her life, which is saying something, frankly.

 

 

Lucy taps on the desk with one hand as she scrolls through her presentation for her Modern American History Class. It starts in fifteen minutes and it’s JFK, which has her nerves jangling. Sometimes it feels like all she’s done since she’s gotten back to university life is research. So much of what she remembers is still accurate, but so much of it also isn’t. There’s no way to know which is which without researching ALL of it. It’s just a 200 level class, but it’s still nerve-wracking to KNOW that she is right but could still also technically be wrong and make an idiot out of herself.

Therapy would be a daily thing, if she weren’t positive they’d lock her up and throw away the key. There’s likely some top-secret, government option that Denise could sign her up for, but Lucy’s had enough of the government knowing her deepest secrets for a lifetime, thanks.

Not that there’s anything much for them to know anymore.

She makes it through the lecture without any mistakes, though she does falter when she talks about the president’s teenage years and his schooling. If there’s one thing she’s proud of it’s this: they saved him. They saved him and so many others, but Kennedy’s the only one who KNEW they saved him. Even knowing he was likely to die, he’d still gone ahead and pursued his political career. It kills her that no one outside their team knows that, knows how brave he was.

That thought is inching way too close to HIM, so she shuts it down. There’s time enough for her to remember and grieve him later, so she staves it off until she reaches her apartment and flicks on the lights.

Time.

For those four years, give or take, Lucy had chased it, fought with it, broken its laws and still never, ever had enough of it. Now, it feels like all she’s got. _Time, time, time, see what’s become of me,_ she hums. Plenty of time, empty and stretching out straight before her to the horizon.

It’s not that her life is empty. The days are full. Her days at UC Berkley are interesting and it’s a better fit than Stanford ever was. She has always enjoyed interacting with students. But after years of sprinting across the fabric of time and space, of constant life-and-death decisions, she’s not sure she’s cut out for the mundanity of campus life. It is soothing, though, because it’s unlikely she’s about to die, and she can do the “eat, sleep, research, teach, repeat” routine practically in her sleep. At least if she messes something up here, the worst she has to fear is academic ostracism. It is a nice change from constantly fearing torture, imprisonment, her own death, the death of all her loved ones, the disappearance of her loved ones, or her loved ones turning out to be evil masterminds.

Lucy’s even writing in her spare time. Not the journal—her mind isn’t made up yet about that one. Connor is still mulling over whether or not it’s necessary, whether or not a loop needs to happen or if it will only mess everything up again. Seeing Flynn like that and setting him on a path that she knows leads to his death…she isn’t sure she can do it. Anyway, the words she wants to write to Flynn now wouldn’t be helpful in any practical way. “How could you leave me like that”, “I miss you”, and “I love you” aren’t exactly tactical instructions. No, she’s writing down their original—is it the original? Yeah, she’s not going down that particular rabbit hole—their remembered timeline. She’s starting with Alice Paul. If it goes well, she’s considering trying to publish it as historical fiction. The Salem Witch Trials would be the best one to start with, but…well. Thinking of their first official mission together still hurts too much.

This way, the forgotten won’t stay forgotten, even if the world has to see them as fictional characters. It hurts less to think of her heroes that way. It hurts more to think of Amy that way. And Flynn.

Lucy’s not obsessed, honestly. But as she’d told Wyatt, she can’t get him out of her head or, more accurately, her heart. He takes up too much of it. Without Amy, without her mom, without any family. Ethan had died while she was in hiding, and her half-brother had been raised by two very Rittenhouse parents and likely hates her. She’s alone. Oh, she knows the team will always care for her, but it’s easier for them to move on. Not as much for Wyatt, and she feels like that’s somewhat her fault still, but it really doesn’t matter now. They are better off as friends and she’s done trying—any further attempt would just damage the both of them. Rufus and Jiya are nearly as dear to her as Amy. She is trying to make her peace with being “Auntie Lucy” to the kids that they will no doubt have in the next few years, and with being a surrogate daughter to Denise, Michelle and Connor. They’ve all been wonderful to her.

It’s not enough. But it’s so much better than it could have been, and most of the time she remembers to be grateful for that. Most of the time she doesn’t have to remind herself.

Days like today, however, when she lectures about some person they’d met, something they’d narrowly preserved or changed, hit hard. Lucy shuffles to her room to change into comfier clothes and stops as she spots her movie collection. It Happened One Night comes into her view and her heart clenches at the thought of the night she’d watched it in the bunker, allowing herself to sink into her sorrow for just a bit. Then he’d come to sit next to her, offering beer and the presence of a warm body without the pressure of words, and she’d wearily grabbed that lifeline. It stumped her at the time because while he still wasn’t particularly _nice,_ he was _kind_ , and it should have been more surprising to her than it was.

 _“We both lost our families to Rittenhouse. We’re both alone,”_ she heard and saw him in her mind as he was that morning a couple weeks later, as well as the following moment when he’d realized that made her sad again and joked to cheer her up. The unspoken message was clear to her: _We’re both alone, so we’re not alone anymore. Not if you don’t want to be._ He’d known exactly how to help, and just _accepted_ her. She’d been able to be real and raw with him, to be angry, sarcastic, tough, weak and heartbroken. There was no need to be Lucy, easygoing, “sure I’ll sleep on the couch so the two happy couples can bang while I drink myself to sleep”, “yes, I’ll still carry your baggage for you, Wyatt, even though it’s not my job and I need a freaking forklift for my own” Preston. She could just be Lucy, no holds barred, and she’d loved it. Loved _him._

Though she had realized that too late. Just in time for him to get scared and disappear into the ether to avoid having a relationship with her. Oh, she knows what he said in the letter, and presented with the evidence, she has to admit that it’s clear he loved her. But there’s a part of her that wonders if leaving was really more about protecting his own heart than hers because she wasn’t worth the risk.

Flynn would call bullshit on that, sure, but he’s not _here_ to do it, _dammit_ , so Lucy is doomed to wonder. She sighs as she finally makes herself head to her room and slowly changes out of her boots, jeans and blouse and throws the clothes into her hamper. Pulling on her flannel pajama pants, she ponders for a moment whether or not she has the self-control before huffing. Of course she doesn’t. The sweater she pulls out from the top shelf of her closet hasn’t smelled like him for a long time, but it still brings her a tiny bit of comfort to feel it around her. It’s as close as she’s ever getting to having his arms around her—a tangible reminder that he had been there, he’d been real, he’d lived.

Pulling the sweater over her head, Lucy still breathes in to try and catch the memory of his smell but she can’t. The thought that eventually the other things might fade from her memory—the timbre of his voice, his dramatic gestures, the feel of him, the look in his eyes when he smiled at her—it cuts her to the core. She has precious little to look back on as it is, she refuses to lose what she does have. It’s going to be a night for full-blown wallowing. From her bedside table, she plucks one of two picture frames. The one with a blown up copy of her picture of her with Mom and Amy stays in its place while she cradles the one of her and Flynn in her hands.

It’s funny. She constantly swings between two extremes: desperate to remember and desperate to forget. Her life would be easier if she could forget and at times she craves ease. For all the pain and suffering, though, all the loss, she still doesn’t want to lose what she’s gained. Flynn. Her friends. Her strength has been hard-won, and she’s damn proud of herself for being able to become a fighter. She would trade all that to get back the people she’s lost, but she wouldn’t trade this Lucy to be that naïve Lucy again.

Just as her back hits the propped up pillows, her phone belts out the Imperial March and makes her jump. Rufus. She doesn’t want to talk tonight and it rolls to voicemail. As she looks back to the photo, it rings again. With a sigh, she sets the picture down and answers.

“Hey, Rufus. What’s up?”

“Hey, Lucy.”

There’s a pregnant pause and Lucy’s eyebrows raise. “Are you still there, Rufus? Did you need something?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to say it. Uh, we did something.”

“Okay…you and Jiya?”

“And Wyatt, Connor and Denise. We…well, we did, and it was Wyatt’s idea, and his idea not to tell you, so you can yell at him if you want, I mean, it’s a good thing. You’ll like it, but—“

Lucy’s patience is waning. “Rufus! What did you guys do?”

“I don’t think I should be the one to tell you what we did. I know it’s going to blindside you either way but Jiya and I decided you ought to have a small heads up. Just so you know, it IS real. It’s not a trick or Ri—uh, you know. THEM. It was us and it is the real deal. Okay?”

Lucy is beyond lost at this point. “Rufus, hold on—“

Her doorbell interrupts what was about to be a strong admonition for him to put Jiya on the phone if he isn’t going to get to the point.

“Someone’s at the door, I have to go. I will call back later, and I assume you’ll find your words by then?”

“Yeah, I think you’re about to find out. Just…it’s real, and if you have any questions or, or anything, you can call. Okay?”

“Ooookay.” She hits end to hang up that incredibly uninformative and not-at-all clear call and heads toward the door as the doorbell rings once again. “I’m coming,” she calls lightly.

She eyes the drawer of the console table where her 9 mm is located. Lucy still hates the thought of firearms but, with Rittenhouse having been out there and the potential for time travel changes, keeping weapons stashed around the house is a necessity, per Denise and backed up by Wyatt. Raising up onto her toes to look through the peephole (another concession to Denise), she sees…and her heart stops as she wobbles back onto flat feet. No. No, it’s not possible. It can’t be. _It can’t be._

That tall frame with the nearly black mane on top is unmistakably Flynn. It can’t be him, she argues with the voice in her head that then reminds her of Rufus’s call. On autopilot, she grabs the gun out of the drawer, leaving the safety on, while unlocking the deadbolt with her shaky left hand. The door swings open and her heart leaves her chest as she takes him in for the first time in two years.

Beloved green eyes are staring down at her with a familiar look of adoration and her heart leaps. Lucy’s able to level the gun at him thanks to muscle memory. Still, her blood is rushing and pounding in her ears and her knees are quaking.

His hands raise automatically in response to the gun, but it’s the look of pride in his eyes at seeing her wield a gun that starts to really crumble her doubt.

Still, she has to at least ask, even as her voice shakes. “Flynn? Is it really you?”

“It’s me, Lucy.”

Her eyes slip briefly closed at the sound of her name in his voice. Oh, she’s missed that. “And you’re…you’re the Flynn I know? I mean, you’re _my_ Flynn?”

An emphatic singular nod is his answer and Lucy lowers the gun. She has to be dreaming, but this is so much better than her usual dreams of him floating dead in the water. His hand pulling the gun from hers feels all too real and she steps back to let him enter. He closes the door behind him and locks it, then double-checks the safety and sets the gun on the table. “You shouldn’t close your eyes when you have a gun aimed at someone.” He licks his lips nervously.

Realization rushes in as Lucy is now positive it’s Flynn, and before she can form a coherent thought or plan, she is jumping into his arms.

He’s alive and solid and THERE. She’s missed him more than she’d even realized. As few times as she’s actually been in his arms, she wouldn’t think they would feel so much like home. That smell that is distinctly his own, the one she’d been trying and failing to remember, envelops her, along with a slight antiseptic smell. He hoists her up by the waist and she burrows her face into his neck as he walk-carries her to the couch. She clings onto him desperately as he sits them awkwardly side-by-side on the couch with her face still buried against him as she thinks the word “how?” over and over again.

Warm to the touch, his heart beating loud against her ear, breathing heavy and unsteady, Flynn is ALIVE. It’s impossible and amazing and she’s so happy he’s here, but _how…_ and…what had Rufus said?

They had done it somehow. The team. Not Flynn.

 _Wyatt’s_ idea, of all people.

Because if it was up to Flynn, he still wouldn’t be here. He’d be dead.

The disbelief and relief rush out of her as fury burns red-hot through her _._ With a shaky breath and trembling hands she jumps to her feet. He stands up to mirror her, and the uncertainty on his face isn’t helping.

"Lesser pain? _Lesser pain?! Be happy?!"_ Lucy draws back and punches him solidly on the arm. It’s gratifying to see the shock flit across his face, before that damned pride again. He doesn’t get to be proud of being right about her turning into a fighter. Because he was also _wrong_ as hell about so much else, and how can he just sit there and stare at her like that and—she hits him again and he lets her, ducking his head, which just pisses her off even more.

“How could you do that?! Don’t just stand there, dammit!”

When she pulls back a third time, he gently catches her wrist. “Lucy,” his voice sounds rough as it did in the forest with John Rittenhouse and she realizes he’s crying. “I’m so sorry.”

The tenderness he addresses her with is unbearable and she bites her lip to hold back the tears. She’s been holding herself together with duct tape and determination, and this is going to be The Thing, the one thing that finally breaks her. Now that Flynn is here, she can feel how big the hole he’d left truly was and it gapes like an open wound.

“You can hit me all you want. I left, I didn’t know, couldn’t believe that it would hurt you as badly as they said I did. But I still left. Whatever you need to do, I’m here for it, okay? You can hit me or scream or whatever you need, Lucy.”

God, he’s insufferable. Just when she _needs_ him to be Devil’s advocate, to be a sarcastic dick, this is what he gives her and it’s enticing, but Lucy can’t soften toward him. Not when he doesn’t even want to be here. She stares off to the side for a moment before snapping her eyes back to his face. The grief she’s let out only in brief bursts over the past two years is howling inside her and clawing to get out. She can hear it in the tremor and barely restrained wail of her own voice.

“I could kill you myself if I didn’t know for a fact that it would hurt me more than you. How _could_ you? We were a team, we could have worked together to fix the Jessica thing. How could you just _leave?_ Just like—just like that? I thought we were starting something and I was actually happy for the first time in forever in spite of everything, and then you were gone and—you were dead.” Lucy had meant to be fierce, but as the words come out, the horror of it takes over. She thinks about that police report and has to clap a hand over her mouth at the nausea.

“Hey, hey.” Flynn reaches tentatively for her shoulders and grips them when she allows it. She ought to jerk away from him, but him being here to touch her is too precious. He looks down at the sweater as if noticing it’s his for the first time. When he looks back up to meet her eyes, her own devastation is reflected back at her. “We _were_ starting something. That’s part of why I had to go. You read my whole letter, didn’t you?”

Lucy lets out a pained groan at the memory of coming back for him and having a grim Jiya hand her a letter instead. Then the letter itself with a lot of beautiful words that she’d have much rather heard from his lips rather than his pen, especially knowing the writer was dead. Her eyes squeeze shut and she tries to focus on his thumbs lightly rubbing against her upper arms.

“Yes, of course I did. But you…dammit, you could have tried, for me, Flynn. You had to know things from the journal could change—they DID change, because some stuff you told us about it already had.”

Flynn looks at her for a long moment before speaking. “I know I put too much into the journal. It wasn’t just that, though. It’s hard for me to believe you could ever…” He sighs, and she recognizes that look—the same one he’d had when they were in Chinatown and she’d asked why he was there. He’s petrified. He bites his lip and then continues.

“You’ve watched me do so many terrible things, seen me at my worst moments. I know what Wyatt meant to you, before. So it wasn’t hard to believe that you would only want a casual relationship with me. That you wouldn’t love me the way I love you.”

He had left and not made any plans to come back, but maybe…a gush of hope surges through her as she looks up at him. “You still—?”

“Yes. Always,” Flynn nearly cuts her off in his hurry to confirm, the truth of it plain in his eyes. “I love you,” he repeats, lifting a hand to her cheek and wiping at tears she hadn’t realized were falling. Damn, that hope is taking root. She leans into it as into his hand.

“I love you, too,” Lucy whispers and he closes his eyes in relief. “I didn’t know, not until you left. For such a genius, you really are stupid sometimes, you know?”

Flynn snorts in agreement. “I know. Lorena said the same thing.”

Lorena. _Lorena._ She recoils as shock rolls through her.

“Wha—Lorena. Is she..? Is Iris…HOW?”

There’s a pleasant look in his eyes that she’s never seen before as he nods. “I figured out how to save them. They’re alive.” That look is peace, and oh, it’s a good look on him. Joy floods through her and she moves forward to follow him as he goes to sit on her couch.

There’s a knot forming in the pit of her stomach and she refuses to acknowledge it. Lorena being alive, _Iris_ being alive, it’s such a fantastic thing. It’s a miracle. It’s still a gut punch. But she’s determined, she will not let her own pain ruin this for him, or even for herself, because she’s so glad he’s finally gotten what he’s wanted for so long. When she sits, though, she makes sure to keep a little space between them, as much as she wants to wind herself back around him like a vine.

Lucy catches her breath for a minute and finally looks at him, at a loss. “Tell me,” she says simply, and he explains, surprising her by starting with when he’d first gotten to 2012 and telling her all about Jessica. Any remaining hesitation she felt about that evaporated when he confirmed that she’d been loyal to Rittenhouse even then. He tells her a bit about the raids he’d gone on, the information he’d destroyed, operatives he’d taken out. She notices he doesn’t say much about how he was living, but that in itself tells her enough, and she aches for him and how lonely he had to have been.

The story of how he’d saved Lorena and Iris is barely believable. “That actually worked?”

Flynn shrugs at her. “Apparently, since none of that seems to have changed. Except for the fact that their bodies were never found this time. I know it sounds stupid, but it was...” he gulps and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Lucy can’t help but reach out and place her hand on his in comfort. “It was realistic. Plenty for that brief glimpse other-me and the operatives got of it.”

“Then I said goodbye and put them in a car. Lorena chose their destination—Panama, I found out a few days ago—once they were in the air. I went to ground near the Port of Baltimore, and that’s where the team found me a couple months later.”

Port of Baltimore. Where his body had been found. The picture of his dead body floats into her mind’s eye and she shudders. “That’s…um…where they found your body. Are you sure you’re okay? The effects of being in your timeline so long...”

Flynn shakes off her concern. “The team took me to a hospital right away. I had some pre-stroke symptoms but they got me medicated and I’m fine. I’ll be checked by a cardiologist and a neurologist every couple months for a while, but I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”

Lucy scoffs and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. The man comes back from the dead and expects her to shrug it off. “Yeah, don’t worry about you suffering symptoms of what killed you. Sure, I’ll just ignore that.”

There’s a brief silence. “I really am alright, Lucy.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I haven’t had any symptoms since the first couple days.”

She bites her lip and tries to will the concern down. With Lorena back, it’s not like she’s the one who gets to worry about him anyway. Not that that will stop her, but it does make her retract her hand from his arm and take a deep breath.

“So, Lorena and Iris. Flynn, it’s…wow. Iris must be what, ten?”

“Eleven,” he smiles, but it fades slightly as his gaze turns watchful. She closes her eyes for a minute and swallows. She can do this, she HAS to do it. With Jessica and Wyatt she had managed, and that was while living in the same bunker. What she feels for Flynn is more… _more,_ but she can do this. For him, she can. Gathering her courage, she raises her chin.

“When will you leave to go be with them?”

Flynn blinks back at her in surprise. “Uh, I’m not leaving, Lucy, I’m…”

She hisses, feeling stupid. “Oh, right, of course, they’ll be coming back here, now that Rittenhouse is gone. When will that be?”

Her face is on fire. She stares down at her hands as they toy with a loose thread on her couch cushion. If he’d just freaking answer her, she’d at least know. Finally, she can’t stand it anymore and she looks at him. His eyes are soft with entirely too much understanding and it’s one thing if he’s here to tell her all of this as a friend, but why does he have to look at her like that while he does it? It’s cruel, in a way that she has never known him to be.

“Lucy, I’m not going back to Lorena.”

She shakes her head. He can’t still see himself as a monster. He’s never been one, but especially not now. “What? No, no, Flynn. I know you don’t think you can be a husband or a father, but you CAN. You’ve redeemed yourself, you CAN. You’re a good man, Garcia.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but that’s not why, Lucy. When I told Lorena about the time travel, I had to convince her to let me go. I wasn’t going to go with them or follow. I told her about some of the things I’d done. She…well, she agreed.”

There’s a sick swoop of anger in Lucy’s stomach at that. Lorena was supposed to love him, to fight for him like he’d fought for her, not to give him up just like that. Her emotions must show on her face, because Flynn snatches her hand and smiles wryly at her.

“It’s okay, Lucy. She said she didn’t think I was evil, but it helped her to understand what I was trying to tell her. I’m not the same man she was married to. I couldn’t pretend to be, even if she wanted me to. Besides, while I’ll always love Lorena in a way, I’m in love with you.”

In love with her. Not with Lorena, the woman he’d fought all of history for?

“I’m what you want, even though Lorena’s alive? You could go back to her, Flynn, to her and—and to Iris, you could fight for them. Now that it’s over, she might listen and—“

Lips brush across her knuckles and she loses her words.

“Lucy. Please hear me out.” She nods, still wary, but she already feels herself caving. She’s grown weak after so long missing him. “I am not the same man, and Lorena and I both decided that we would not stay married. I am in love with you—I know it, Lorena knows it, and I hope to God you know it by now. I know you might not be ready for more yet, but if you’re willing to give me a chance, I…please?”

The last of her resistance crumbles away as she melts at hearing him ask for the chance to love her. _He loves her._ She bites her lip before scooting a little closer and she watches as the concerned wrinkle of his forehead smooths.

“You’re absolutely sure? Not even for Iris?”

He gives her an indulgent look. “Iris and I will have a chance to reconnect. Lorena and you convinced me that I’m not so bad that I can’t be there for her, even though Iris isn’t too thrilled with me right now. But no, I’m not going back to Lorena. Not even if you decide you can’t give me a chance. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to me. Or to her boyfriend, come to that.”

“Boyfriend?” Lucy’s raises her eyebrows at him.

“Well, yeah, it’s been more than six years. She met Geovanni, who leads adventure sports retreats up into the mountains, four years ago. They’re very happy together, and apparently he has the body of a Greek god.”

Lucy leans back in surprise at his nonchalance. “You’re just…okay…with all of that.”

“Lucy,” Flynn lightly grabs her by the shoulders again and leans in tentatively. “Even though I didn’t want her to be dead, I had let go of our marriage, of us being together again. Are you asking because YOU aren’t sure or okay with it? I know you said you love me, but it’s okay if you aren’t. It still won’t change things for me and Lorena. I know I hurt you and I know it’s been a long time—“

She stops him with a shake of her head. “No, it’s not that. Flynn, I’m terrified. I’m so afraid that I’m going to go to sleep tonight and you won’t be here when I wake up tomorrow,” she spits out while staring at his chest.

Flynn makes a strangled noise before pulling her into his arms and sliding a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She burrows against him and hangs on, probably too hard. “I just…I thought we were going to…and then you got so scared that you left the next day.”

He groans in response as he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to hers and look at her. “No. I mean, yes, but no. It broke my heart to leave you. Either way, I figured I was always going to get my heart broken. I didn’t want to leave you like that, hurt you like that, not like Wyatt did.” She cringes at the reminder as he continues. “I saw what that did to you and I hated the thought of you being heartbroken, because that’s all I could see happening if—and then I still did. You were right, I always trusted the journal too much. I’m so sorry.”

She takes him in for a long moment, mulling over his words.

“So…what now?”

“When you asked before if I was your Flynn, I meant it when I said I am. I have been yours for far longer than either of us would probably want to admit. Now, we do whatever you want.”

He was hers, wasn’t he? She thinks of Salem, of it only taking a nod from her for his immediate response, of an old car on a back road and a simple _I’d like to get to know you, but I know you might not want that._ Her choice, not her fate, but still inevitable. Just as Flynn had written. A smile splits her face as the safety of him, of his presence and his care for her—his _love_ for her—fully registers.

“Whatever I want, hmm?” The man ought to know better than to give her that kind of latitude. She watches gleefully as his eyes widen and he licks the corner of his lips. Does he do that on purpose? It has to be on purpose.

She’s never letting him out of her sight again. “I want you to stay.”

“Tonight? Or…?” He swallows hard and she can feel the restrained tension in him.

The answer is always, but she’s not grown quite so optimistic in the course of the last hour. “How about for the foreseeable future?”

“I’ll take it,” he nods and his shoulders relax. “For now.” His eyes are imploring and promising forever, and she wants to believe him. It’s going to take some time, seeing him every day. Every day.

“I’m not ready for…I think we should wait until I don’t feel like you’re going to leave the next morning otherwise.”

He flinches like he’s been stung. “No, of course, I…no matter how long it takes. I—“

Lucy cuts him off before he can apologize again. “What is it that you want?”

“Other than to be with you?”

Flynn tilts his head and she prepares herself for a properly dramatic response to annoy her, even though she knows it probably never will again.

“Can I have my favorite sweater back?” He asks with a smirk that she can’t decide whether she wants more to smack or kiss off his face as he tugs at the hem. It’s so beautifully familiar that she can’t help but grin back despite the tear that manages to escape.

“Don’t push your luck,” she quips, moving closer to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. On their way to meet David Rittenhouse, that’s the first time she had recognized her attraction to him and how much she didn’t know about him. How much she wanted to know him. Lucy isn’t sure he’ll remember, but then he closes his eyes and leans his head down to press his cheek to hers. When he speaks, his voice is full of tears, but when she peeks up at him, he’s beaming at her with her favorite room-brightening smile.

“Fair enough.”

Then his familiar firm-but-gentle fingers are stroking her face and she isn’t sure who moves first, but they’re kissing and it’s like coming home and sinking into a bath. It’s warm and intimate but also just demanding enough, and _wow,_ his mouth feels like it was made for hers. She’s full of love and joy and everlasting relief and all she knows is she never, ever wants to stop, and she doesn’t have to. For the first time in years, the time stretching out in front of her feels like exactly the right amount: forever.

 

* * *

 

Not that everything’s perfect, because of course it isn’t. Nothing could be that easy for them. There are nightmares and flashbacks, moments of panic, and serious concerns about how two soldiers in a private war move forward together and make a normal life. But there are also his arms there to hold her, and his beautiful, living face to replace the dead one she sees in her dreams, his voice in her ear to counterbalance her own doubts, and just the very presence and fact of his continued existence is enough to buoy her through the hard parts.

It’s been thirteen days since Flynn came back, and Lucy hasn’t stopped smiling.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Thank you for coming along on my spite- and spoiler-fueled fix-it journey.


End file.
